Name That Sound!

Parenthood changes your perception of a lot things, especially what sounds can mean. If you have no kids running amok, a random "click" from a room two rooms away doesn't take on the ominous meaning that it does once you have kids underfoot.

Here are a few notable examples from my own experience.

1. Silence:

Any seasoned parent will tell you that the sound of silence coming from the next room will set off alarms. Instead of sitting back with a huge *sigh*, a parent faced with an abrupt silence one room over will immediately leap out of her chair, wondering, "What has the kid gotten into now?!"



2. Silence, followed by *thwack-thwack-thwack*:

You know this can not be good. What could it be? Is it as simple as a throw pillow whacked against a coffee table or is it something more ominous, something involving the cat? Things that make you go "Hmmm..." right before your head explodes.



3. Silence, followed by peals of laughter:

This is especially troublesome once there is more than one child in the equation. The amount of trouble increases exponentially with each additional child. The last time I heard this series of sounds, it involved my two children, a set of magic markers and a pile of blank card stock. The card stock, as it turned out, was just for show. The real artwork appeared on the littler child's face and hands.




4. Silence, followed by *thwack-thwack-thwack*, *skitter-skitter-crunch* + peals of laughter:

In all honesty, this made my blood run cold. In case you have no idea what that combination of sounds could possibly mean, it is the sound that a large Ziplocked bag of Cheerios makes when it is beaten to death by a Cat in the Hat Toy.



5. Snip-snip-snip:

Picture, if you will: I was up in the studio with my 5 year-old daughter. I had given her her safety scissors so she could do her collage, with strict instructions that "scissors are for paper, nothing else!" After a while, it occurred to me that the short, sharp snips I was hearing were different from the longer, drawn-out sssssssnips I should have been hearing. With the utmost trepidation, I turned around in my swivel chair, and what do I see? Natalie, hunched over, brow furrowed, lower lip bitten in extreme concentration, giving the cat a buzz cut.



6. Dribble, Dribble Thwack-Ssssplop:

That's the sound that a fleece bathrobe belt makes once it's been soaked in water, and then swung around in circles and launched at the wall/furniture/carpet.


Where in the good, green hell do kids dredge up these ideas?

"Gee, what should I do with this bathrobe belt and sinkful of water?"

"I wonder how long I can beat this big bag of Cheerios with the Cat in the Hat toy before it explodes?"

"Gee, Cheetah would look cool with a mohawk! Or shorter whiskers!"








I have weathered these incidents pretty well and can laugh at them, and the girls absolutely love hearing these stories, but I know that my days of being surprised by new sounds aren't over. These kids are nothing if not creative and resourceful.

Underfoot

Yesterday as I was moving around my kitchen making dinner for myself, I stepped on something.

Usually if I'm going to step on something small on the kitchen floor, it's a piece of kibble that the cat knocked out of his food dish and swatted around. He'll do that occasionally in protest of the brand of cat food or as a reminder that he needs a fresh can of tuna.

He's very thoughtful that way.


What I stepped on, however, was small and hard and did not go *crunch* underfoot.

It was a tiny, hard plastic cherry from one of the girls' games Hi-Ho-Cherry-O.

The game board has long since disintegrated, but the girls hung on to those little cherries tenaciously, first in a ziplock bag, then in a plastic pencil case. Eventually, I thought that the cherries had finally made it to that Great Toy Land in the Sky where missing checker pieces and Barbie's socks, stilettos and scrunchies spend their eternity decomposing.

Somehow that little guy survived and ended up, like so may other things in this house, underfoot.

Spunky Critters Underfoot:

Stepping on the cat is usually fraught with greater peril since he has a full set of claws and teeth and will use them as needed.

The kids are bigger now, so I'm not likely to stomp on them; they're more likely to tackle me these days, but they still manage to get in my hair.

Special "Offerings" Underfoot

The girls are pretty good about letting me know if they've thrown up somewhere so I'm not likely to step in it. Unfortunately, kids tend to throw up in the wee-est of wee hours of the morning, like, say, three in the morning, at which point all they want to do is cuddle with Mommy. At three a.m.

The cat, on the other hand, is not quite as diligent about keeping me informed, regardless of what time he pukes. He's just as cuddly though.

Scattered Toys Underfoot:

The catnip toys don't pose a huge danger, although the kitty-drool that saturates them may be fairly high on the Ick-o-Meter.

Stepping onto one of the kids' toys, whether it's a teeny-tiny Barbie accessory or the most dreaded of toys: the Lego, is excruciating.

Ok, so it might not be as painful as childbirth, but those Legos hurt! They just might be indestructible.

On the list of the worst children's toys to feel under your feet, I think that Legos have to be at the very top of the list, although when I was a kid, I think that jacks would have taken parents' vote for the least favorite toy to step on when they're navigating a dark house in the middle of the night.



Do kids even play with jacks or marbles anymore? I loved them. One of my most vivid memories of playing with jacks involved flushing them down the toilet to see if they'd get whisked away.

They did, in case you were wondering.

Better that than impaling your foot on one and then having to go to the Emergency Room for a tetanus shot, right?

Right. :)

Crouching Tabby, Wretched Children

Crouching Tabby

Cheetah has allied himself with my enemies. No longer content to spend his days sleeping on every available soft surface in the house, he has taken to "crouching" and "perching."

He perches on top of the fridge and waits for me to open the door. Then, with a yowl, he lurches forward toward my head just enough to make me jump out of my skin. I swear, the furry bastard laughs at me afterward.

He crouches on the counter by the phone, waiting for me to walk by. Then he reaches out with a paw (claws sheathed, though) and bats at me. If I turn and bat him back, he sits up on his hind legs and bats at me with both paws until one of us gives up.

He perches on the headboard of my bed after the girls come into my room in the middle of the night to snuggle. He perches, purring, until we're lulled by the sound, and then he launches himself onto me, chasing my feet under the blankets.

He crouches on a dining room chair, hidden and forgotten as I sit, typing on my laptop. When I shift and put my feet on the chair across from me, he latches onto them and gnaws...gently.

It's either cabin fever for housecats or a kitty mid-life crisis as he rediscovers his inner tiger.

Wretched Children

On nights when I have them at my house, they come down in the middle of the night, 3 am or so, and climb into bed with me. I know I need to nip this in the bud, but I keep rationalizing it by saying that it's still early in the separation and if they feel that they need my comfort, then I'll let them. It works, too... as long as they sleep. Half the time it seems as though they view this time as "Playtime with Mommy." Hell no. Not at 3 am. Despite my inability to get back to sleep, I still don't need to deal with the two monsters arguing over who got a better piece of mommy that time.

Last night I had to kick them both out of bed, fix the blankets and the pillows and then get back in bed, this time, in the middle, and then ordered them to pick a side. Just as they'd settled down, the cat came waltzing in. He batted at my hair, and chased my toes, to the delight of the girls. Finally, all nestled up against me, he snoozed, purring; my girls nodded off, clutching their blankets; I, on the other hand, lay there, eyes wide open, staring at the shadows on the ceiling until it was time to get up and start another day.

Cease-fire

The Axis of Impishness and I have maintained a cease-fire this week, though I fear an outbreak in hostilities will be forthcoming this weekend. There was a slight incursion at 5 o'clock EST this morning when the 4 year-old kicked me repeatedly in the ribs as she tried to get "comfortable." The furry one attempted to take over my pillow and distracted me with numerous tail-lashes to the face. These events are likely to increase, since the s2bx has a conference down in DC, leaving me with the girls all weekend. In a pre-emptive strike, I am predicting early bedtimes for all small mammals in the vicinity (yes, I'm a Mean Mommy), although I suspect that the Axis will be launching an assault on all fronts sometime in the wee hours of Sunday morning in retaliation.

For your reference, here is a photo of 2/3 of the Axis: Lucy and Cheetah. Cheetah is the one with the whiskers. Don't let their cute and fuzzy exterior fool you: they are pure impish evil.

Guess who's back to his old shenaningans?

He's at it Again!

"Who?" you ask. "The s2bx? God? The Mailman?"


No, its Cheetah, of the Crouching Tabby fame, the furry little bastard.

Forgive me the anthropomorphizing here, but this cat has a real personality. Now we're down to a true battle of wills, and I, for one, am not going to cave to some green-eyed, ginger-haired devil, no matter how nice it is to have him lying against my stomach when I nap.

He doesn't like his new dry cat food. I bought it specifically for the health of his teeth and gums, since he's prone to problems, and he's "resistant" to having his teeth brushed. Ok, you little jerk, eat this special food since you don't want me to slip on that toothbrush condom-thingy and scrape your teeth. Believe me, I have no desire to do it. If I'd wanted to be a kitty-dentist, I'd have gone to Kitty Dentist School. Yeah. The furry menace tried to bite me the last time I attempted it. Ok then, new food. Ha!

Well, he finds the new dry food offensive. He knocks one piece of kibble out of his dish and then bats it around, chasing it through the kitchen, living room and dining room. I think he purposely aims it at my feet just to annoy me. I ignore it, much like I ignore my 4 year-old's whininess. When that doesn't work, he knocks a few pieces into his water dish, where they bloat up like revolting sponges - ok, I can't really blame him for not wanting to eat it, but I bought it, so tough. With the disgusting little kibble-balloons bobbing in his water dish, he can't drink his water.













Still, I do not take the hint as he sees it, so he perches on the counter right behind where I'm seated, green cat eyes boring holes into the back of my neck, and meows plaintively from time to time, just to remind me of his plight. Whenever I get up, he's there, weaving a figure eight between my ankles as I dash to the thermos for more coffee. Is he hoping that if I trip and knock myself unconscious I'll wake up ready to go to the store for some Friskies or MeowMix or something? Maybe he's planning on snacking on me. *shudder*

Sorry, buster. I'm digging in my heels. Eventually, you will get hungry/desperate enough to eat it, just like my girls' hunger eventually outweighs their distate for the green veggies I put in their pasta. I'm a Mean Mommy, and and I'm a Mean Cat Owner. Suck it up and deal, kids. You're not winning this battle.

Stop Eating the Cat Food!

I have always known that small children will experiment with "exotic" foods; in particular, foods not meant for human, but rather animal, consumption. Sure, the child might sneak a little kibble, give it a tentative taste, find it offensive and loathsome in her sight and then spit it out. That was the case with my older daughter Natalie when she scarfed down a handful of cat food. The look on her face was priceless. It ran along the lines of, "Holy Mother of God, what have I just done?!" I naturally assumed that meant that cat food, all cat food, was vile to small children.

Three years later, along comes Lucy, who defies this rule. For some reason, this child of mine can not pass by the cat's bowl of Meow Mix without a little sample. She eats it, too. She doesn't simply roll it around in her mouth for a bit and then let the fishy ooze dribble down her lip, ohhhh noooo, she swallows it and goes back for seconds! I never thought that the words, "Stop eating the cat food," would come out of my mouth, least of all directed at the brilliant fruit of my womb. I know that we learn something new every day, but some of these lessons are beginning to scare me, just a little.